


Sacrifices

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Whump, loosely inspired by the preview for 311
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: "When he asked Mac if he was okay, Mac said everything was fine. Not that Jack really believes him, but he can’t see any bruises."On the surface, it seems like Jack's the only one their captors have an interest in torturing. But some scars are less easy to see and take longer to discover...





	Sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [just_another_outcast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/gifts), [tommino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommino/gifts).



> I saw the preview for 311 and got very, very excited...but then my brain started changing the entire idea, so this fic is actually in no way connected to 311 aside from it being about Mac and Jack captured together...

Jack spits a mouthful of blood into the corner of the room. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, asshole. I’ve been interrogated by ten year olds who hit harder.” It’s partially true, his nephew chipped one of his teeth when they were playing baseball in the backyard at the ranch once… _ Damn it _ . With the concussion and the fever he’s been developing the past few days, his mind is wandering all over the place. He has to focus if he wants to make sure he doesn’t give them anything by mistake.  _ Don’t think about where you work. Don’t think about your family. Don’t think about your name. _

The man standing over him shakes his head. “Don’t know when to quit, do you tough guy?” There’s the sudden hot pain that Jack associates with a knife without even having to look, raking across his shoulder. 

The guy’s picking up the cattle prod and Jack’s bracing himself for that particular unpleasantness again when the door opens. “Boss says to put this one back.” Jack hears them blurrily, there’s still water in his ears from yesterday and it’s making everything even fuzzier. 

His hands are cut loose from the chair, and then cuffed in front of him, the smelly bag they’ve been using since day one is tugged over his head, and then he’s marched down the hall and shoved through a screeching, metal door into the little concrete box he and Mac have called home for the past two and a half weeks. 

He pulls off the hood and glances around. 

Mac isn’t in the room.  _ Aw kid, what are they doing today? _

Jack was terrified, the first time they took him to interrogation, that when he talked back they’d punish Mac for his insubordination. So he tried not to say anything, the first few times. And then they broke his arm and his smart mouth wouldn’t stay closed.

He expected to come back to find Mac sporting bruises, maybe a broken limb as well. But the kid seemed fine, aside from looking exhausted and moving stiffly. Which makes sense given that they’re woken up every hour by their guards, and neither the rusty cot or the concrete floor is great for sleeping on. When he asked Mac if he was okay, Mac said everything was fine. Not that Jack really believes him, but he can’t see any bruises.

But something isn’t right. The kid is quieter now, he doesn’t react as much to Jack’s horrible jokes. This sadly isn’t close to the first time they’ve been in this position, and usually Jack’s able to keep his mind off how much this sucks by carrying on conversations with the kid about any and all random information Mac can dig out of his brain. Once it helped the kid think of an escape plan. But this time, Mac is just so quiet. He doesn’t ever start a conversation, and he isn’t his usual distracted excited self when Jack brings up something sciency. 

Something about that, and the way Mac avoids letting Jack near him, and the fact that he seems overly cautious about moving, just rubs Jack the wrong way. They used to sleep right next to each other, Jack holding Mac’s back as close to his chest as he could, to keep what warmth they could in this chilly room. Now Mac sleeps curled in a corner, and even when he’s shivering he doesn’t actively seek out Jack’s warmth. The few times Jack has tried to hold him, he protests and tries to move away. But Jack can’t see any cuts or other damage under his torn clothes that warrant that kind of unwillingness to be held. 

Maybe it’s electric shocks. That wouldn’t leave marks, but it would scare the kid and make him want to avoid being touched. Maybe they drug him to try and get the truth out of him and he’s having a bad reaction to it like he does to pretty much anything else he’s ever given...Jack knows he’s grasping at straws but not knowing is worse than hearing the worst. Because if Mac keeps refusing to tell him where they take him, what they do, his mind is free to come up with the most horrible explanations possible. And the worst part is he’s starting to think he might not be wrong.

Most of the time the kid’s in the room when Jack is taken, and when he gets back. Those days he seems more okay, even if he is shivering in a corner when they throw Jack in. He always gets up and comes over and tries to see how badly Jack’s hurt, and if he can he wraps the wounds with shreds of their clothes. Most of what’s left of their shirts have gone to that cause, and Jack feels even guiltier when he watches the kid shiver alone at night. A good half of the kid’s clothes are now part of the splint and sling Mac made to try and keep Jack’s arm from healing wrong. 

It’s the days that Mac isn’t back in the room by the time they return Jack that concern him, and there are becoming more and more of them. When they do bring the kid back, he’s always crying, as much as he tries to hide it. Mac’s always exhausted and even more skittish after one of those incidents; but strangely those are the days when Jack hasn’t been completely trashed at the hands of the goon of the day. Some traitorous part of Jack is thankful for the reprieve, but he  _ knows _ that something awful is happening to Mac in his place. He just doesn’t know what it is. 

And strangely enough, Jack has started to notice they’re getting slightly more and better food, and the water they’re given actually looks drinkable. Usually the longer an interrogation goes on, the more a prisoner is deprived of, but lately they’ve even been allowed to sleep more.  _ What’s going on?  _ He can’t imagine that the kid is handing over information in exchange for getting them what they need.  _ Mac would never do that, not when he knew I was holding out as long as I could. He would at least tell me if that was the plan. _

Jack has to admit, on some of the worse days, he’s wondered if it would be worth it. But then again, if these guys get the intel they want, Mac and Jack are dead men. So holding onto it is the only way to ensure they stay alive. And Mac knows that too. So Jack is at a loss.  _ Maybe they’ve realized that if we die of some disease from the water, or starve to death, they don’t get what they want.  _

But the food and water will only do so much good. Jack knows he’s getting pneumonia from the waterboardings, and some of his deeper wounds are infected. He couldn’t sleep last night from coughing, and he’s running a decent fever. 

He sits down on the rusty bedframe in the corner and leans back, trying not to jar his wounded arm. He slips into an uneasy doze, and his worry about Mac invades the fever dreams. He sees his kid trapped on the other side of a pane of glass, screaming for Jack to help him as these monsters holding them captive begin to cut him open. And all Jack can do is watch and cry.

“Jack? Jack?” He bites his lip, tears trickling down his cheeks at the sound of the kid’s broken voice. He’s not even screaming anymore, just whispering. “Jack, wake up. Please.” He blinks, and then realizes it’s the real Mac in front of him, eyes wide with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Just dandy. You?” Jack asks, and then a coughing fit strikes, leaving him hacking gunk into the crook of his arm. 

“I’m all right.” The kid’s tear-choked and hoarse voice tells a different story.  _ It sounds like he was screaming till he lost his voice. _ Mac kneels beside him, and Jack realizes that at some point he fell from where he was sitting to curl up on the bed. No wonder his cough is worse. “They left us some things.” Mac’s holding a bottle of disinfectant, and he hands Jack a couple of small pills, holding his head up so he can swallow them. Jack recognizes the bitter taste of low-grade antibiotics, the kind of stuff from military kits. He’s taken them often enough. 

“Where’d this stuff come from, Mac?” It’s certainly not hospital grade supplies, but he’s surprised to see that the men gave them anything at all.

“They know they can’t get what they want if you’re dead. They just want you to hurt, not kill you.” The kid’s answer is as evasive as hell, but Jack has to admit he can’t really think of a better one.  _ This is the strangest kidnapping I’ve ever been a part of.  _ They’re easing up on Jack, but he can’t tell what they’re doing to Mac instead. The kid’s never bloodied or bruised...but he’s clearly in pain. 

Jack wants to ask Mac about the tear streaks on his cheeks, about the way he’s moving so stiffly, cringing when he tries to stand up, and nearly falling anyway. He’s barely walking, more like shuffling. But when Jack tries to speak, all he can do is cough. And Mac is rushing back over and rubbing at his back and there’s nothing but concern in his eyes. And then everything goes black.

* * *

Jack startles awake out of a nightmare of the kid strapped down to a table, screaming as one of the men jams a cattle prod against his side, only to realize that the screaming is very much real.

His fever feels a little less extreme, and he’s actually able to sit up on the rusty cot without his head spinning. Mac screams again, a broken, desperate cry. “Stop, please!” The kid’s curled up in his favorite corner, the one furthest from the door, and he’s shivering and gasping.

This isn’t close to the first nightmare Mac’s had since they got here. He’s cried or screamed in his sleep almost every night, and predictably, as time has gone on, they’ve gotten worse. But something about this one seems different. 

Mac is huddling up, but his hands are held out protectively in front of him. And there’s a desperation in his voice that terrifies Jack. “No, please, don’t do this. Please!” Jack staggers off the cot and stumbles over to where Mac is lying.

“Hey, kid, wake up, it’s just a nightmare.” Usually, when this happens back home, Jack can reassure the kid that he’s safe, everything’s fine. But here Mac’s dreams could become reality any minute and there’s not a thing Jack can do about it. 

Jack sits down beside him; he doesn’t dare touch the kid because lately he’s noticed that doesn’t wake Mac up, it just makes him more upset, thrashing and struggling. Mac has stopped screaming, but he continues to cry. 

And then he lurches violently to his side, throwing up what little is in his stomach, coughing and gasping. Jack reaches for him on pure instinct, one hand rubbing the kid’s back, the other reaching to brush his messy, sweaty hair out of his face. 

Mac flinches away from his hands, panting. “N-no, please, no, no, don’t touch me, I don’t want…” His voice trails away in a choked whimper. “Please sto-op.” His hands move from protectively shoving Jack’s away to clutching the waist of his ragged pants. “No, please.” He’s cringing, huddling away...until awareness flashes into his eyes and he instantly tries to pretend he’s not absolutely terrified.

Jack’s heart shatters. “Oh Mac. Oh kid.”  This is exactly what Jack’s been afraid of. Exactly what he’s been constantly pushing out of his mind, the little demon that makes its way into the darkest of his nightmares. “Oh Mac, please, tell me they’re not…”

The shattered, devastated look the kid gives him is all the answer Jack needs. He rocks back on his heels, stifling a bitter sob.  _ Mac doesn’t want to be pitied. He didn’t want you to know. _ Jack wishes, as sick as it sounds, that the answers to his questions about what happened to Mac when they dragged him out that door were simple torture. Because this is a thousand times worse. 

“Mac, I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. What is he going to be able to do to make this better? Because the two times they’ve tried to break out, they’ve been caught, and Jack’s been beaten within an inch of his life...and what did they do to Mac for that? Jack suddenly cringes at the memory of being incredibly dazed, lying on his cot with a concussion that put him somewhere between awake and asleep, and hearing Mac crying brokenly for hours.  _ I thought I was dreaming of it. I did that often enough that it wouldn’t have been a surprise.  _

“It’s not your fault,” Mac whispers, and then sniffs, a fresh spill of tears running down his face and another round of shivers shaking through him.

“How long has this been going on?” Jack asks, aching to hold the kid close and wanting to tear these bastards apart for making the one thing he could have done to comfort his kid into something that will just scare him more. 

Mac doesn’t answer Jack, but the gasping sob that tears through him at the question makes Jack’s heart ache. He didn’t really need to ask; he’s pretty sure it was after they broke his arm and he got smart with them.  _ I thought he was okay. That at least they weren’t beating the shit out of him. But they were doing this.  _

And then he hears a sound that over the past couple weeks has become an instant trigger for him to stiffen and brace himself for pain. It’s the sound of boots pounding down the hallway, coming closer and closer to their door.  _ No, not right now. No. _

The door slams open, and the man who walks through glances from Jack to Mac, who’s slowly sitting up, frantically wiping his tears away, trying to look strong. “You ready for the next round, tough guy?”

Jack just snarls. He wonders if this guy’s been one of the ones who’s been brutalizing his kid. 

“Please, he’s sick. You can’t keep doing this, you’ll kill him.” Mac raises his hands slowly. “Whatever you want I’ll do it I promise, just please leave him alone.”  _ No, no, no, don’t do this Mac.  _

“That so, pretty boy?” The man smiles. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Don’t touch him,” Jack growls. “You do and I’ll rip your head off. And some other things too.” Mac shakes his head, eyes wide with fear and shining with unshed tears. 

“Jack, don’t…”

“Mac, you can’t do this. You can’t.” Jack gently takes Mac’s shoulders, trying to keep him from getting up, but Mac pushes his hands away. Jack tries to stand and feels his concussion and fever make themselves known, as he staggers and falls backward. “No, kid, I can take it. I’ll be fine.” It’s one thing that they’ve been punishing Mac for Jack’s actions without him knowing it. But now… he won’t let Mac trade himself for Jack.  _ Hell no. _

Mac just staggers to his feet, limping toward the door. The man grabs Mac by his shirt collar. “You’re lucky the boss likes you. I’m sure he won’t mind another round with you instead of your stubborn friend.” 

Jack rolls over, feeling weak and pathetic. He’s supposed to protect Mac and he can’t even stop this guy from hurting his kid. “You son of a bitch! Take me, not him.”

“Sorry, tough guy. Boss isn’t too fond of your face, or he wouldn’t have let us smash it.” The man smirks at Mac. “But the kid’s just his type.” 

Jack growls like an angry bear and forces himself to his feet.  _ They’ll do this over my dead body. _

“No, no, no,” Mac pleads, and he’s trying to get in between this guy and Jack. Jack stumbles to his feet, leaning on the wall, maybe he can get a good punch in...and then he’s knocked onto his back on the floor. But the goon didn’t do it. Mac is the one standing there shaking his fingers out. “Jack, trust me.” 

Jack gets a last glimpse of the kid being dragged into the hallway, more tears beginning to slide down his face, and then the door slams shut.

* * *

It feels like an eternity before they bring Mac back. Jack’s beginning to think maybe they won’t. Maybe that’s the punishment for finding out what’s really happening. Maybe this boss decided that he’d rather just hang onto Mac permanently. Jack feels sick at that thought.

And then the door slams open. The same goon is there, but he’s got another guy with him, and between them, Mac’s practically being dragged. His arms are draped over their shoulders and he’s sagging limply, his hair falling into his face. 

The two men fling Mac onto the floor, and the first goon gives Jack a smirking wink. “Your friend’s a great time, tough guy.” And then he slams the door.

Mac can’t even get up. He half-lifts his head, but then sinks back to the floor, sobbing, curling up as much as his horribly battered body will allow.  _ This time they wanted him to hurt.  _ And they wanted Jack to know what they were doing. They didn’t give back his clothes this time, and the kid’s shivering miserably. It’s not like they’re ever warm in this room, or like the kid’s raggedy mess of clothing was that much better than nothing, but...

Jack pulls off his own torn and bloodstained shirt, ignoring the searing pain in his broken arm. He tugs it over Mac’s head and the kid clutches at it gratefully, pulling it down as far as he can over his legs. Jack starts to kick out of his equally tattered jeans, and then hands them to Mac to put on himself. Jack doesn’t dare get his hands anywhere near Mac’s legs right now. 

“Mac, you shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have.” He gently moves a little closer, trying to judge Mac’s reaction. The kid flinches a little, but then he curls up against Jack, putting an arm around the older man’s neck. 

“Th-they said if I didn’t let them do it, they’d kill you,” Mac whispers. 

“You shoulda let me die, Mac.”

“You know I couldn’t.” Mac sniffles. “I had to keep you alive.”

Jack sighs, carefully wiping Mac’s sweaty hair away from his face. He’s soaked with sweat, the room is frigid, and his rags of clothes aren’t doing him an ounce of good. Jack wishes they had a blanket; if their captors can leave antibiotics and wound cleaning supplies for Jack the least they can do is give the kid some small comfort after they’ve been so cruel...

And then Jack comes to the next awful conclusion. “Oh God, Mac, this wasn’t just about keeping them from killing me, was it?”  _ That’s why we had decent food and water. Why Mac was so evasive about why they let him try and take care of me. _ Mac has been bargaining for every bit of that, more than likely. Except that rather than trading them information for the things they need, he’s trading  _ himself. _

Mac says nothing, but Jack sees the guilt and shame in his face and posture practically double.  _ No wonder he didn’t want to tell me about any of it. He didn’t want me to feel guilty that we were getting some help.  _

Jack can feel the hot tears pouring down his face. “Oh,  _ Mac. _ ” He doesn’t know what else to say because damn it how can people be so cruel? Jack is going to get them out of here or die trying. Because he’ll be damned if he lets them hurt Mac like this again.  _ I’m so sorry, kid, I should have seen it sooner. But I didn’t want to.  _

* * *

The next time they pull Jack out, it’s their boss himself who comes to interrogate him. Jack doesn’t even know the man’s name, and he doesn’t care. He just wants this guy to become a memory.

The man paces back and forth in front of Jack. “Well, it seems your friend finally admitted the truth to you. You know, I’m surprised he held out as long as he did. I expected a fragile little thing like him to be easier to break. To go running to his protector, crying that we hurt him. But I guess in the end he still did.” The man chuckles. 

“Mac’s the toughest kid you’re ever gonna find.” Jack snarls back.  _ He would never have told me. I wouldn’t have found out if it hadn’t been for his nightmares. _

“Oh, you only see what he lets you see. The brave face.” The man’s lips twist into a cruel imitation of a smile. “You don’t see when he begs and cries and pleads.”  _ Yes I do, because you sick monsters are all he dreams of now. _ Jack misses the days when the kid would wake up thinking he was teaching a class of tiny unicorns. 

“Your pretty boy is so obliging, though. When I told him what we wanted would guarantee that you were given food and water, he’d do anything, even if he did cry. And then when you got sick, he started begging. Said he’d do whatever it took to get what he needed to help you.” The man laughs. “You want some information about us? Want to know what the price was for water for you?” Jack clenches his good hand into a fist, he wants to put it through this guy’s jaw. “He could have just told us what we wanted to know; that was the easy way. But he kept choosing the hard one.” The man shrugs. “And now that you know, the choice is yours. The more you resist, the more often we take him. Give us what we want, and I’ll make it quick. A bullet to the skull each. You won’t feel a thing.”

It’s actually tempting. But then Jack catches sight of the sidearm on the man’s hip.  _ I got a plan.  _

“No.”

The boss shrugs. “Take him to my quarters then. I want you to see what you’re doing to that boy, and maybe you’ll change your mind.” 

All it takes is making the guard who reaches for him think Jack is sicker than he is. One not-too-suspicious stumble and he gets his hands on the gun. He may not be able to walk without stumbling, but Jack wasn’t the best shot in his Delta unit for nothing. A minute and a half later, he has keys.  _ It was too quick for him, for the monster he was. But I can’t waste time when Mac needs me.  _

He’s memorized the route back to the cell, and when he opens the door he sees Mac curled in his usual corner. And then he wants to cry when he watches Mac flinch, start sobbing, and turn away.  _ He thinks they’ve come for him. And without me there, he doesn’t even try to pretend to be strong.  _ Mac is absolutely terrified. 

“Mac, it’s me, we’re gettin’ outta here.” Mac looks up, eyes wide.

“Jack?”

“Yeah buddy, we’re going.” Jack pulls the kid to his feet gently. Jack’s none too steady on his own legs, but the antibiotics helped a little, and he’s running on pure anger and adrenaline. 

The last two times they broke out, Jack tried to be careful. He didn’t want either of them getting killed. This time, he doesn’t care.  _ If they get Mac back he’ll wish he was dead. And if I fail to protect him, it’s what I deserve.  _

Somehow they make it out. Jack doesn’t really remember much. He knows he has a bullet in his thigh, but he doesn’t think the kid got hit so it’s okay. He vaguely recalls finding an abandoned cabin and a radio inside. He calls Phoenix by muscle memory, he knows the frequency and the callsigns that will make sure he gets answered and they get exfil. It’s late, but better than nothing. 

Mac seems only half aware of what’s going on. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness, probably hypothermic and possibly sick. Jack knows he’s not doing so great in either of those departments either, but he does manage to find them both some better clothes in the cabin.

He doesn’t dare try to change the kid’s clothes, so he just pulls the new, warmer ones on over the filthy ones Mac’s already wearing. It’s not ideal, but he doesn’t dare traumatize Mac any more. He lays the kid on the mouse-eaten couch, digs them out a blanket from a trunk in a corner, and pulls Mac against him, covering them both up. 

Jack is drifting in and out of consciousness when the door slams open, revealing the tac team on the other side. 

Mac starts to sob, burying his face in Jack’s neck. “Please, no,” he whispers. “Don’t let them take me back, Jack, please.” The sheer agonized desperation in his voice cuts Jack’s heart. 

“No one is gonna take you back there. None of them are gonna touch you again.” Jack looks up at the medics. “Let me carry him to the chopper. He’s…” he doesn’t say anything more, because Mac will be humiliated enough by all of this. 

Mac fights the medical team every step of the way. He fights like a wildcat to keep them from taking his clothes, and they finally have to sedate him to get him cleaned up and into a set of plain scrubs. Jack wants to hold Mac’s hand, but he’s being fussed over too, and when they re-break his arm because the bone was actually not healing straight, he passes out. 

* * *

When Jack wakes up in Phoenix medical, arm casted and at least four IVs in, his first thought is for the kid in the bed beside him. Mac is awake, sitting up, but he’s not doing anything. He’s not mangling the broken phone Riley must have left, or playing with the box of paperclips. He’s just sitting and staring at his hands. Jack has the awful feeling that it’s like looking at an empty shell.  _ Was I too late? Did they break him too much? _

“Mac?” He asks hesitantly, voice hoarse with disuse, and the kid suddenly lights up. The life flickers back into his face and he rolls over to face Jack. 

“You’re awake!”

“How long was I out?” 

“Three days,” Mac whispers. “You were really far gone, they said some of the infections were septic.” Jack grimaces. No wonder he feels like shit. “They said if you hadn’t gotten those antibiotics when you did, you probably wouldn’t have made it back.” 

Jack’s stomach twists, and not from the smell of hospital chemicals.  _ I don’t deserve to be okay after what Mac did to get those for me.  _ He can’t help the creeping, evil thought that’s slinking in, what if Mac did all this to save Jack’s life but then contracted some disease from those men? Jack won’t be able to live with himself.

Three days is enough time for their medical team to come back with reports. “Mac, you told them what happened, right?”

“Kind of hard to miss. I’m not gonna be walking anytime soon,” Mac says grimly.

“They did infection screenings, right?” Mac nods, and Jack doesn’t like the look on his face. “Mac, what did they say?”

He can tell Mac is debating whether lying to Jack is worth it.  _ No, it’s not, because I’ll get one of the doctors to tell me the truth and anyway, if you have to think about it something isn’t good.  _ “It wasn’t anything they couldn’t successfully treat. I’m on a course of medication, they’ll retest me in a couple weeks.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to recover, they caught everything early enough.I’m not dying, Jack, this happens.” 

“It’s not supposed to happen to  _ you. _ ” 

“I did what I had to do.”

“It’s not your job to save me, Mac, I’m supposed to protect you. And all I did was make this worse.” He knows for a fact that Mac wouldn’t have submitted to this to get better treatment for himself.  _ If he’d been in there alone he would have done better. And that’s a sad commentary on what kind of partner I am.  _ Maybe it’s time for Jack to get out of the business, if all he’s going to be to Mac is a deadweight, someone to try and take care of. 

“Jack, what do you always tell me?” Mac asks, and the sincerity in his eyes hurts. 

“That your job is to save the world, my job is to protect you.” Jack has the feeling his words are going to get twisted on him.

“I don’t want to save the world anymore if you’re not part of it.” And then Mac is sobbing again, tears spilling down his cheeks. Jack scrambles out of bed and, dragging his IV, struggles over to sit next to Mac on his. Mac turns and buries his face in Jack’s chest. “I can’t lose you, Jack. Nothing is more important to me than that.” 

There’s nothing else Jack can say. He sits there and ignores the nurse that scolds him and runs his fingers through Mac’s hair.  _ We both made it out alive. We’ll never be the same, but at least we have the chance to keep moving forward.  _

When he feels Mac tense, hears his breathing change and knows he’s going into a nightmare, he soothes the kid awake, as gently as he can. Mac still startles, still cries out and shouts that he doesn’t want it, for them to leave him alone, but the moment he realizes Jack’s there he reaches out and clutches his hand and looks up with so much confidence and trust Jack’s heart falls completely to pieces.

_ I don’t deserve that, not after what I let happen to him. But if Mac is a good enough person to still love me, to still want me to stay, after all of it, I owe it to him to try. To spend the rest of my life making it up to him. _ Jack holds the kid a little closer. No matter what happens, no matter what the future might hold, he’s not going anywhere. Not as long as it’s clear that that’s what Mac wants.  _ I can’t always save him, but I can always be here for him. _ And maybe, in the end, that has to be good enough.

Mac sighs and cuddles a little closer to Jack’s warmth, and Jack readjusts his grip so he’s holding the kid snugly but not too tightly. Mac turns a little and softly mumbles, “Thank you, Jack.”

“For what?” Jack asks, equally softly, because all he can think of that he’s done is provide a helpless sort of comfort.  _ I didn’t do anything worth him thanking me for. _

“For not hating me. I was afraid you’d be angry when you found out what I did.”  _ You’re damn right I was angry. But at them, not at you. Never at you. _ “I know, it was pathetic, but I wanted to help you and I thought it was the only way.”  _ That wasn’t pathetic. I’ve never had anyone do anything braver for me. _

“Oh Mac. You never have to worry about me hating you.” Jack gently cards his hand through the kid’s hair, and Mac settles a little more closely. And then Jack sees it, the tiny piece of wire that’s been clutched in one hand this whole time. A carefully twisted, tiny heart. 


End file.
